This is a poem by Black Horse poet Jasmine King. It is inspired by the stories told to the author by her grandfather, who was a coal miner.
Walking his footsteps to Bullcliffe, a trudge of many
years CapHouse colliery, a community underground,
rising each day out of darkness into light. My Grandfathers
Country of blood, sweat and tears…a real miners life.
A time of parting from friends, the coal dust he gathered
settled in the secret chambers of his heart. Ashes, now in the
tomb of his perfect garden - an Artists eye, spring flowers
red Geraniums, painted round pink Roses blossoming arch.
And I think I’ll know him on that future day, when I see him
after long, years his coal - veined - broken limbs.
Made new, planting seeds of Art from coal, his paintings,
A soft smile, pride at my poetic scribblings.
Grandad made me laugh his daft humour, helping me
dig deep thru life’s bloody trenches, and dark courses.
My tears like like glass shards, bitter shale and debris.
Pitching my pit-pony soul, against other, stronger horses.
And I’ll dig, dig, dig, as my Grandfather did, all thru my life
take up my pick and shovel, his love and wisdom guiding
Me, on this rocky road. And I’ll search, for the Black
Diamonds, my grandad shovelled.
Lest we forget, those who worked in Mines, for Yorkshire coal
Breaking hard rocks into pebbles, so I’ll be one of his kind.
Hoping for that lucky strike in life to find, where only, a soul
knows where to look - In the back streets, of a mind.
Happy memories, a girl riding a her first bike, dreams of Laughter,
Art and Gardening, on dark nights, his stories of caverns , as I
lay in bed, Grandads Pit Lamp twinkling in starlight, songs of
the brave, In each sleepy yawn and my eyes close-shut-tight.
In loving memory, his smiling face, and Eric Morecambe glasses
Whispering to my soul so I know, he’s alright, dissolves into sky.
I sleep on unaware of Time or his Spirit as it passes, my Spirit
greeting his, a taste of Heaven as he sits, promising this is Not
Goodbye.
And so - I’ll not grow tired, nor give in, even when I’m Weary
for I have my Grandfathers Wisdom, as guide you see.
My Hands hold his Stick, my Heart his Love and Memory
And so - until we Meet again, It’s A Miners Life For Me.
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